


First Warm Day of Spring

by pifflapodus_scriptor



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Female Gaze, Fluff, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pifflapodus_scriptor/pseuds/pifflapodus_scriptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mako brings home his officer's dress uniform. Korra really likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Warm Day of Spring

It’s the first warm day of spring. Korra pads barefoot across the floorboards to the window and they’re cool under her toes and heels, like she’s standing on the surface of a polished ochre river. She undoes the sash on the window and throws it open so that the heat rolls in, curling and pooling into the room, a sea breeze slipping by shy and quiet. Across the bay, Air Temple Island sits rocky and verdant on the jewel-blue sea, the sunlight glinting off the bronze-trimmed pagodas, and she leans out the window and takes a deep breath of springtime. Lazy afternoon, lazy day; a white bird tilts out of the sky and soars off on silent wings.

Korra hears the metallic chunk of the apartment door unlocking behind her and she stays at the window until Mako’s hands are on her arms, ghosting up to her shoulders, and his fingertips draw small thrills that skate to the back of her neck.

“Hey, Hot Stuff,” she says, grinning, as he slides his arm around her waist and tucks his head over her shoulder; his clean, shaven face is warm on her cheek.

“That’s Officer Hot Stuff - ” and Mako drops a kiss on her jawline, pulling her closer - “to you, Avatar.”

“No one can tell, you thug,” she murmurs, as his other arm comes around her, and she tilts her chIn up so he can lip up her neck - a kiss here, a kiss there, one more over here…

“Lucky for me - I just picked up - my dress blacks,” he says, and her eyes fly open.

“Really? I wanna see! Show me!” Korra says, reaching up with her hand to still him, pause his attention - she’s proud of him, for studying, passing his test, graduating onto the force; she’d slept through his late nights drilling protocols and taken the phone call from Lin where the chief told her his record’s not too wild to tame, _I think I can make an officer out of this kid_.

“Alright, alright, hold on,” Mako says, unwrapping from her waist, and he takes the crinkly grey garment bag off the back of the armchair and unzips it, his motions lively with excitement. First he pulls out the black dress slacks, perfectly straight and ironed smooth, not a single thread wrinkled or creased, and then the black jacket, bright with gold and red trim and shining brass clasps like splinters off the sun. Mako holds them up against himself, pants in one hand and jacket in the other, beaming quietly.

“Look at you, all fancy,” she says, trailing her hand down the crimson sash and holding out a stiff black sleeve, the cuffs striped with red; “you’re gonna be the prettiest boy at the dance.”

“Aw - ” he starts, and Korra chucks him under the chin. He’s happy, and that makes her happy, and she knows what this means to him, having a steady paycheck and a job to do.

“You should put it on, I want the full effect of Officer Mako,” she says, and he grins and lays the slacks and jacket carefully on the armchair so that he can shed his coat, his gloves, his scarf; she sits on the arm of the other chair and watches.

“So, Bei Fong told me that if you get arrested, I’m not allowed to spring you from jail,” he says, as he leans over to take off his shoes, and she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, if I get arrested again, I’m taking you with me, pal,” she says, crumpling her nose, and his thigh muscles shift and flex as he takes off his pants; “no doubt about it.”

“Well then, I promise not to tell her if you’ve been bad,” he says, stepping into the slacks, tucking his grey tank top into the waist, and his grin is so dumb, he thinks he’s so clever, that she crosses her arms and makes a face, sticking her tongue out in defiance. Mako laughs as he slips into the jacket and then bends on one knee to open the cardboard shoe box, pulling out a gleaming pair of polished black shoes. He laces them up and starts buttoning the jacket, fingers nimble and quick. Korra leans out and takes the hatbox off the coffee table, propping it on the back of her armchair and removing the stiff peaked officer’s cap from its nest of white tissues. It’s a beautiful hat, the gold-embroidered insignia of the police force jutting from the leather band onto the dark, lush red crown, their motto in a bright, clean white curving gracefully over the black visor, a feather pattern on a wing. Korra holds it carefully in two hands until Mako is done with the jacket and sash; and then she stands up on tiptoes to fit it gently to his head.

She takes a step back and looks him up and down and bites her lip because - Mako looks good. Really good. The jacket is trim to his form, squaring his broad shoulders; and the gold piping of the asymmetrical fold swoops across his chest, the brass clasps pulling their loops into shapely teardrops of thread. The red sash narrows his waist, shaping him with assertive angles, the ends fluttering and wafting to rest over his hip. He’s a coal on the edge of burning, catching fire; tall and proud and full of self-confident youth.

“Eh, it’s alright,” Korra says in a casual tone, tossing her hand, and Mako’s eyes flash as he grins.

“Liar,” he snorts, as he cocks the hat at an angle, and then he snaps his heels together with a click and throws her a salute.

“Avatar,” Mako says, in a knowing voice, and Korra starts to feel a little light, a little warm…

“Oh, Officer, I’m so glad you’re here,” Korra says, in a high falsetto; “someone seems to have stolen my… shirt.”

And she pulls her shirt over her head, her hair falling messy across her face, and drops it onto the floor, somewhere. Mako’s eyes widen, his eyebrows disappearing under the visor of hat; she’s not wearing anything underneath and his gaze burns her on the inside.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, and she fixes him with a smirk.

“… they took my pants, too,” Korra says, sticking her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants, and stepping out of them on light feet as she rises from the armchair. Korra tucks two fingers into his sash and presses her hips to his, leaning back from her waist, with her smile splitting her face. He rests a hand tentatively on her waist, just barely skimming over her panties; Korra can see he’s trying to keep a straight face.

“What are you gonna do, Officer Mako?”

His hands slide up her sides and where his cool touches meet her skin, there is a thrill of warmth; rising to her face and dropping to unravel between her hips.

“Uh, take evidence, file a report,” he says, and she runs her tongue over her upper lip, idly, tasting the fresh color of the air, locking eyes with him -

“Need to talk to witne - oh, fuck it,” he growls, and lifts her, one arm under her thighs, the other around her torso, and she hooks her legs around his waist as he silences her gleeful surprise with a sloppy, wet kiss. Korra throws her arms around his neck and deepens the kiss; and their lips are loose and slick and she can taste the breathless words in his mouth, salty and rich.

“Where?” he says, muffled; and he tilts his head back to look at her better. Korra yanks the hat off and flips it onto her own head, running her fingers through his hair, and she loves the way he closes his eyes and inhales, a breathy hum of pleasure. _Mmmh -_

“Um, table,” she says, after a moment’s thought, and she tightens her legs around him as he heaves her up and staggers forward across the room to the dining table. Mako sits her on the table and leans her back, so that her calves dangle over the edge and Korra is between him and the cool, hard expanse of wood. Korra holds him there, locking her hands behind his back, and he laughs low onto her face.

“I think I caught your thief,” he mutters, and she claps a hand to the back of his head and arches into him so that he can stop talking already and smear lazy kisses onto her neck. The steam touch of his mouth spreads over her with a delicious shiver, and her arousal burns bare and aching between her legs, a dense flare of heat. And Mako leans onto Korra, the uniform fabric crisp and warm against her naked body, caging her head between his elbows. The brass clasps are cool and sharp against her breasts, her ribs; the feeling bites deliciously.

“Reporting for duty - ” Mako says, stroking down the side of her face with one hand, and he feels for her ponytail and pulls the wrap off, sending cool thrills down her scalp as his fingers flow through her loosened waves of hair. Korra laughs, making him sheepish.

“You’re such a dork! I’m gonna call you Officer Dork instead. Go to town, you know h - “ she says, and he swallows the rest of it, slipping into her mouth, his lips tight over hers; he tips the hat over her brow and then his fingers glide down her taut skin and tuck into her panties, dragging them down, down her legs. She bends her knee up and out and he leaves the panties draped over the other, the fabric ruffled pale green over the brown.

He breaks the kiss and lifts himself, his hands flat on the table, and Korra takes the opportunity to slip her foot between his legs and slide lightly up the inside of his thigh, pointing her toes, firing herself on the way he winces in anticipation, eyes screwed shut, mouth half open, tongue limp behind his teeth. She gives him a firm nudge on the hip and he stumbles backwards, towards the armchairs; and Korra watches the sleek, swift movements of his dark form as Mako takes a cushion from the couch and comes back. His expression is glowing with the rosy orange of a candle in a red paper lantern.

“Up you go,” Mako says, and Korra bucks her hips up, allowing him to fit the couch cushion under her back, padding to her frame. And then he splays his hands and starts at her knees, sweeping up her body, slowly, gently; heavy on her thighs, his fingers dimpling shallow creases into the plane of her stomach, and then he palms over her left breast, tracing and feeling, almost weightless. She moans in an undertone, feeling sweat seep over her forehead, down her neck, and maybe they should close the windows…? But they’re not on the island, they’re several stories up in his apartment and Korra likes the sound of the city in afternoon, an arid rustle of cars and trolley clangs, the bustling asphalt dance step of lives in motion. She likes being in it.

Korra squirms and draws him closer, hooking her ankles behind his back, and Mako sighs happily as he dips his head over her other breast. He mouths over the soft skin, taking his time, dragging his damp lips over the pert nub and then across her collarbone, and he nips at the other, yellow eyes glancing up to hers - and she fumes gloriously; he’s searing circles onto her skin, kissing, caressing with coy licks - Korra groans and she can feel him chuckle into the valley between her breasts, his hand fumbling from her chest to her ear, a quick, smooth tuck of her hair - and then his two fingers curl her lips down and she opens her mouth for him, just a sliver, and he tastes ashy-salty, a crisp wood-fire stain on her senses.

Mako shifts his weight to part her legs, just a bit, and when he removes his fingers from her mouth they’re slick and damp and he trails them down to the very inside top of her thighs, lingering with barely felt strokes, everything melting, tingling under her curly coarse thatch of hair. She’s already wet and swollen and Korra gasps, hisses through her teeth as he slips inside her, slow and steady, feeling, exploring, out of tandem with the throbbing hot ache in her folds - Korra moans again, curving up against him, and he kisses her with his other hand tangled in the downy hair on the back of her neck. And he moves down, puckering and teasing his way to her collarbone, then between her breasts, breath fluttering over her navel to the tensed, curved plane of muscle just past it, and she quivers as he stops and smiles into her skin, his hand still rocking into her -

“Agh - you son of a - bitch, keep - going,” she hisses, her words withering away, all of her thoughts collapsing on themselves.

“Rude,” he chortles, and she buries a hand in his hair, tugging roughly, almost shoving him further down, because Mako always takes his fucking time. Korra just wants him there, all of him; she shivers with heat as his fingers press into a spot that flares up all over her, breaking her skin into sweat and stripped nerves - and Korra exhales, a drawn-out keen of sound, feeling her bones shudder as he pulls out - He looks at her as he sucks her taste off his fingers, languid and provocative, his cheeks hollowing and jaw tensing around them, and there is an obscenely wet pop of air as he slides them out of his mouth - it’s not _fair_ the way he does that - and the idea of him with another man, and watching him go for it, just makes everything hurt that much _better_ -

There’s a muted _thunk - thunk_ as Mako gets on his knees, first one and then the other. He shoulders her thighs, draping her legs over him, and even through the uniform Korra can feel the rolling swells of hard muscle - and his eyes lock with hers, sunlight streaked with honey, and he nips and noses up her thighs, damp flecks of pure feeling, her blood set aflame and coursing up the inside of her skin.

“ _Fuck_ , Mako,” she growls, threading through his hair, and Korra tugs again, making him stop, and he laughs to himself - _okay, no more of that_ \- and then she scrabbles and grips at nothing, clenching her hands, as he starts, slow and deliberate; his tongue is wet-warm on her. And for a few moments Mako is just there, musing over her cunt, teasing with small licks and strokes, and her nerves are singing icy hot through her - she whines, shaky and high, and tries not to claw her fingers into his head as he picks up a rhythm of broad, relaxed strokes, rolling up and down, painting fire onto her and through her. And Mako’s a damn tease, making her wait, his hands drifting along her legs - and as he quickens the pace, everything is rising, tensing to an edge -

Korra yelps breathlessly, feeling cut open as he spreads her legs wider with a blunt push, and she bites her lips, her nerves uncoiling, as Mako mouths onto the dense knot of raw, pulsing heat and sucks her, licks her, to the top of senseless thought - and he draws out all the feeling, all the airless sound in her chest and the stars blistering white in her eyes and the seething, taut freeze of her body, and she cries out as she comes, a deep shudder that crests through her, and she falls, and falls, and falls, through a bursting, heated pain that burns her out -

Everything spins and tilts and she opens her eyes with a long huff, finding her breath, it’s somewhere in her. She blinks, feeling her chest rise with coolness again, and wonders if all the Avatars’ lovers are chosen by fate, if in every life someone is born to please a divine soul. She likes the one she got; he’s grinning as he lifts his head, wiping the glistening off his chin with his palm. Korra sits up, fitting the officer’s cap firmly over her head, and she traps Mako as he rises to his feet, her legs wrapped around his. She cradles his face in her hands, pulling him to her.

“Nice work, Officer Hot Stuff,” Korra says, and he shrugs, smiling broadly.

“Live to serve, all that jazz,” Mako says, and he hums as they kiss, his lips full of a sweet tang. Her bangs are slicked to her forehead with sweat and his uniform is completely un-creased, still spic-and-span, not a single thread out of place. He takes a step back as she scoots off the table, the wetness of her arousal dull and cooling, and Korra sidles up closer, slipping a hand between his legs, feeling the hard length straining against the fabric.

“You need help with that?” she purrs, palming with a bit more strength; and he tenses and huffs helplessly, eyes closed.

“Oh, _fuck_ yes,” Mako breathes, and he has to slow her down with kisses as she fumbles at the brass clasps and the zipper, rough in her excitement, and by the end his back is to the wall and he’s bare, entirely bare, sweat running down the shallow furrows of muscle on his torso as he breathes ragged, his hands fisted in her hair. The uniform is scattered on the floor in soft black lumps that crumple under their own hollow weight, and Korra is still wearing the officer’s cap because why the fuck not, she thinks - it’s the first warm day of spring, and such days are made for the easy love they wear.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, it's my very first smut. Written for Makorra Month over on Tumblr. Let me know if you liked it? :)


End file.
